40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 184 9. Taking a Vow (I)

"One last question." Jairzinho Guzman tapped the metal bed with his fingers without emotion. "Reserve Yago Sevitarion, how do you feel?"

"."

"Answer me, Reserve. Otherwise I'll assume you're ready."

The boy nodded silently.

At this moment, he was wearing a straitjacket, lying on the cold iron platform, looking nervous.

It was impossible to say that he wasn't nervous-why wouldn't he be nervous?

He agreed to Khalil's words and became a reserve, but he still had only a vague understanding of the things around him and was confused. Moreover, just two hours later, he was actually lying in a dark room.

His hands and feet were bound, and the iron platform was as cold as a dead body. Not only did it make him uncomfortable, but he couldn't even feel his back. He felt that he had been sweating, but he had no evidence to prove it.

"Very good." The medical officer walked up to him and tapped his forehead with his fingers. For some reason, he was wearing iron gloves, and the touch of metal made Sevata feel a pain on his forehead.

"You already know what's going to happen next, reservist?"

"The 20th operation?" Sevata turned his neck and looked at the medical officer.

The latter's gaze was still emotionless, and he just nodded slowly: "Yes, the 20th operation, and also your first operation."

"Will I be cut open?"

"Not for the time being."

"Then what will you do to me?"

"I won't do anything to you, reservist, you haven't reached the stage where you want me to help you with surgery." Jairzinho grinned, and his smile was very cold. He tapped Sevata's forehead with his fingers again, with a little more force than before.

"And the most important thing you should do now is not to ask questions, but to shut up and wait quietly."

"Will shutting up let me pass the operation?"

"Not necessarily."

"Then why should I shut up?" Sevata stared at him. "Why do you keep hitting my forehead? Chief Medical Officer Jairzinho Guzman? Is there something wrong with my forehead?"

"Maybe." The medical officer stared back, his voice became very soft. "But I'm not sure yet, whether you have a problem with your forehead or your brain."

"Do you want to confirm it?"

"Not for now, I'm afraid I'll be infected by you, reserve." Jairzinho lowered his head and pressed a button on the side of the iron platform.

It began to change its angle, taking Sevita from lying flat to standing upright. He didn't really touch the ground, his feet were suspended in the air, and the iron platform itself and the straitjacket worked together to tie him up tightly. For a moment, Sevita almost thought he was lying in a coffin.

Of course, this didn't prevent him from refutating the medical officer's words.

"I don't have an infectious disease, this is what you said before, respected medical officer."

"I can make mistakes too."

Jairzinho glanced at the recruit who talked too much and suddenly felt funny.

"Save your energy and stay calm, reservist. I don't hate to engage in personal attacks, but do you really think I can't see that you're nervous? Shut up and wait quietly for a while."

Sevitar did as he was told. He was really silent for a while, and then he spoke again - stuttering.

"It's so cold." He shivered, his teeth chattering, and his eyes rolled up. "Why... is it so cold, medical officer?"

"It's cold." Jairzinho Guzman said expressionlessly.

He turned his head and looked at a pair of bright eyes in the darkness. Fel walked out and nodded to him. They walked out of the room, leaving the cold and loneliness inside to Yago Sevitarion to bear. And there were already two people waiting in the corridor for a long time.

They were of similar height, similar appearance, and even their standing postures were similar. At this moment, they were observing the inside through the bulletproof glass.

Fel approached them and reported in a low voice. The voice of the chief think tank sounded very different from before. It was cold from nowhere, just like his eyes that were shining blue at this moment.

"Everything is normal, Primarch, instructor. Reserve Yago Sevitarion has begun to dream."

"So soon?" Conrad Curze raised his eyebrows, looking a little surprised. "I thought he would wait for a while before falling asleep."

"Soon is a good thing." Khalil said to Fel. "How is it, the feeling of controlling the ritual?"

"Very strange." Fel answered slowly.

"I don't know how to describe this feeling, instructor. The formation itself is craving for psychic energy to light them up, and I seem to be just a generator. I can feel the psychic energy leaving my body, entering the ritual formation, and gradually building up sleep. But other than that, I can't do much more."

Khalil nodded to him: "That's enough, Fair. This is the best."

He turned his head back, and behind the bulletproof glass, a dark but scarlet light was already on.

Conrad Coze closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and his muscles were tense.

May you succeed, Reserve Yago Sevitarion. He said silently in his heart.

——

As always, cold, never-ending, never-ending cold.

The wind without emotion and consciousness blew indifferently from the far side of the pale world. Everything was silent, and even the sound of the wind did not exist at all. Savita was wrapped in the cold, but he didn't particularly care.

He could clearly feel that he was dreaming. This thing was very strange, but it did not prevent him from being shocked by the scene in the dream.

In front of him was a majestic mountain range, covered with thick white ash, making everything look like it had only one color, one color. The color is lifeless and instinctively uncomfortable.

Are those things ashes? he asked himself, and then immediately overturned this idea in a few seconds - no, no, not ashes.

Yes. Ashes.

Yes, ashes.

Sevatar started walking forward. He still remembered what happened before. Chief Medical Officer Jairzinho Guzman said that he would undergo the twentieth operation, and this twentieth operation was actually his first operation.

Savitar didn't understand why they reversed the order, but he seemed to catch some subtle thread now.

He walked along the mountains, surrounded by silence, extremely quiet. Sevatar tried to make some noise by walking, but he failed. Even if he stamped his feet deliberately, no sound was born in this pale world.

The boy breathed a little uneasily, instinctively wanting to move his fingers to relieve this anxiety. This was his past habit, and he would do it whenever he felt uneasy - and this time, he actually succeeded.

Savita immediately realized what was wrong with the question.

Isn't he wearing a straitjacket? His hands were crossed and tied together, making it impossible to move each other.

He lowered his head and stared, only to realize that the clothes on his body had completely changed. At this moment, he was wearing a white robe, with straps on his hands and feet. His boots were also white and looked brand new.

Savita knelt down and touched it. The touch from his fingertips was very dry. He felt that the thing was like some kind of skin. He stood up again, feeling a swaying feeling in his waist.

Sevatar reached out and touched a kettle hanging from his waist, as well as an ancient-looking paper roll. Its surface is so rough that it almost hurts your fingers to the touch.

Savita silently took the kettle and shook it. He didn't hear the shaking sound, but the quality of the kettle itself told him something. He unscrewed the screw cap and took a small sip.

The water itself had no taste, but it was pretty good compared to the water he'd been able to drink in the past. Savita immediately covered the knob and hung the kettle back on his waist. He took the parchment again, spread it out, and began to read.

"Cross the White Mountain to the City of the Dead, Argo Severtarion."

"."

Sevatar frowned.

The eternal night is above - what does this mean?

He pursed his lips, looking a little annoyed. But he still put away the parchment roll, put it in his chest, and started walking forward.

The mountains were silent, so quiet that it was a bit eerie, but Savita walked forward regardless. The road was smooth at first, but quickly became rocky. The slope rose steeply and began to become more and more intense.

Savita also changed from simply walking to walking with difficulty. In the end, he was almost crawling and needed the assistance of his hands to continue upward. Crawling forward every short distance required him to expend a lot of energy.

He tried to rest for a while, but rest did not restore his strength. He also raised his head to observe how far he was from the top of the mountain, but no matter what he tried, the distance on this road did not seem to shrink at all.

The boy stopped in frustration, grabbed the side of the surprisingly steep road with one hand, and took out the kettle with the other hand. He grabbed the twist cap with his teeth and took a second sip of water.

In an instant, Saiweita's spirit was lifted up, and his physical fatigue disappeared in an instant.

--what's the situation?

He doubtfully closed the screw cap of the kettle with his teeth again, but after all, he still did not put into practice the idea of ​​​​taking another sip. That might answer his question, but it might not.

Rather than wasting a mouthful of hard-earned precious water for the answer to a question, Savita felt that he should keep the answer to the question.

He began to continue upward, and this assisted crawling finally turned into climbing after a certain critical point. Savitar sensed this through the changes in slope and gravity, but did not turn his head and look back to confirm whether his perception was correct.

What a joke.

Argo Severtarion licked his chapped lips in annoyance, tasting the blood that remained on them.

Turning back now would be the same as committing suicide - he would not test his willpower for no reason. It would be better if he didn't look at it. If he looked at it, God knows if he would still have the courage to continue this climb?

After all, he still had a city of the dead to go to.

The boy gasped, taking a deep breath and starting to continue upward. There was very little water left in the kettle, and he knew it. It was no longer as heavy as before, and he had to climb over the mountain before the water in it dried up completely.

If he couldn't do it, he would surely die.

Sevatar was not afraid of death, but he did not think he should die here. So he kept going up, cursing in his head the whole time.

After a while, his fingers began to become sore and numb, and every movement and exertion of force would cause pain in his wrists and forearms. The same goes for his legs. The process of bending them to exert force became a terrible torture.

His knees began to protest, and his muscles swelled, pounding along with his heart. He paused with a gasp, took the kettle down with trembling hands, and drank the last of the water.

This saliva smelled of blood and was unspeakably bitter, as if it were the embodiment of pain and was unpalatable, but Savita swallowed it hard.

There was a burning pain in his throat, and in contrast, his hands began to become more stable.

Savita bit the kettle, took a deep breath, and began to climb up.

He no longer looked up to observe, and he had no water to drink - he crawled, non-stop. He was furious, in great pain, and his muscles seemed to be torn, but he still forced himself to climb.

There was a strange willpower bound to this body that made him refuse to stop.

Why stop?

damn it.

Yago Severtarion cursed in his heart - Why should I stop? You bastards throw me into a hellish place like this and still call it surgery?

I think your brain is the most suitable for surgery! Let the medical officer who saw the ghost come first! Inexplicably, he keeps tapping my forehead with his finger. Is he using my forehead as a table? !

Unconsciously, he had forgotten the fact that this was a dream and began to devote himself wholeheartedly to it.

He was angry, sleepy, tired, in pain, and confused. He didn't know when this climb would end. He opened his mouth and took another deep breath, but because of this action, the kettle slipped from between his already stiff masseter muscles. The space slipped.

Savita sneered and said nothing. The emotions surging in his heart exceeded a certain limit at this moment, and he finally roared out.

"asshole!"

He hissed and roared at the seemingly endless mountain top. His voice resounded through the originally silent mountain top, echoing endlessly like thunder. But he himself didn't notice it at all.

With red eyes, he continued to climb, filled with resentment - and then, in the next second, the things in front of him suddenly distorted. An extremely strong feeling of weightlessness came, causing him to scream uncontrollably.

He fell, then abruptly returned to the ground.

There was no pain, just a sense of peace of mind after landing safely. Savita blinked, climbed up from the ground, and saw a ruins shrouded in darkness. There was a faint light shining in front of him, it looked like a street lamp.

The boy lowered his head in silence and began to explore his body. He quickly confirmed one thing.

All his injuries and fatigue disappeared, and the parchment roll on his chest was hot.

He immediately took it out, and the ancient paper scroll was actually glowing, as red as burning. The characters are dark, and the edges are twisted as if they are burning, which is very strange.

"Congratulations, Reserve Yago Sevitarion. You have successfully crossed the White Mountain and arrived at the City of the Dead. Next, you need to pass through the city and go to the Altar of the End. There, you will Witness everything.”

Come again? What are you doing? Is it over yet?

Savita's face twitched suddenly, and she instinctively wanted to curse a few more words, but she immediately stopped herself. For no other reason than he heard a whisper. This sound was all too familiar to him.

They are not human voices.

Yago Severtarion clenched his fists silently and began to take a deep breath.

Also, but I don’t recommend waiting. I plan to stay up late today and write out tomorrow’s update.